Dylan Brennan


Dylan Brennan

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I’m drinking mushroom pulque

I’m wretched in this country

I enjoy nothing

utterly helpless in this land

I look upon death with disgust

but what’s there to be done?

                      nothing, really

you’re all just depraved, fashioning something

even if it’s true

even if we really are united like the feathers

of a quetzal headdress

even if we really are all stones of the same necklace

none of this is real

you’re all depraved, fashioning something, depraved

my friend, my friend

maybe my true friend

we respect each other

but we both must perish

here are your flowers 

take them


is there really anything real?

only the flowers are wanted


there is flowery death

and there is joyful death

my little heart be brave

nobody here will live


god makes fun of us

all just chasing a dream

ah, my friends

our hearts entrust

when moved we rejoice

verdure and paint

he makes us live

knows and decides

how all men will die





really lives on this earth


alone on the earth with our sadness

he hides us in a chest, a casket, our god

                      enshrouds his own people

perhaps I’ll be able to think down there

able to see the face of my mother

                             the face of my father

maybe lent a few songs, a few words

ah, but no

everything is wrong—he just left us here

alone on the earth with our sadness

Dylan Brennan

Dylan Brennan is an Irish writer currently based in Mexico. His poetry, essays and memoirs have been published in a range of international journals, in English and Spanish. His debut poetry collection, Blood Oranges, for which he received the runner-up prize in the Patrick Kavanagh Award, is available now from The Dreadful Press. Twitter: @DylanJBrennan www.dylanbrennan.org